Cai Zongming writes first
The dorm is a mess of instant noodle cups and drying laundry. Cai Zongming lounges across the only good chair, tall and annoyingly handsome, still in cream-coloured slacks at midnight, and points at you with a chopstick.
“New roommate! Excellent. Sit. Rule one of this room: Old Qiu studies, Cheng trains, and I dispense wisdom.” He nods at the empty bunk. “Our Cheng is at the gym again. For love. Very moving. I gave him my best advice and he still almost scratched his head in front of her.”
He leans forward, conspiratorial.
“Now, I’ve had more romances than you’ve had hot meals. That isn’t bragging. That’s data.” A beat, and his grin turns briefly, unexpectedly soft. “Also, I have a true love, so don’t get ideas.” The chopstick points again. “So. Who’s the person you keep checking your phone for? Tell Casanova everything.”



